


Mirrors

by SW221B



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Brainwashing, Dark Sherlock, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kidnapping, Murder, Other, Psychological Torture, Villainlock, Villains, brainwashed Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-03-10 05:20:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 18,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3278261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SW221B/pseuds/SW221B
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has has vanished without a trace. Kidnapped by sinister forces that riles even the vast crime web of the Crime King Moriarty. John is at his wits end trying to track down his best friend. But as the weeks pass, the odds of finding his friend alive become more and more slim. When Watson does find his friend, things will never be the same. </p><p>((This is my one and only warning,  I will be dealing with dark elements. If you are sensitive to the idea of violence don't read this. It is just going to get worse as the chapters progress.))</p><p>"~Life is infinitely stranger than anything which the mind of man could invent. ~"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nightmare

“I need you to go through what happened with me, Watson.”

John looks up at his therapist Dr. Ella Thompson, eyes watering. “I can’t.” he states in a broken tone.  
“John, please. This isn't healthy. You need to process what happened.” Ella continues.  
John looks up with the expression of a man coming apart at the seams. “Sherlock is missing. He was taken and it’s all my fault. After my wife Mary died, I asked him to take the case because I knew that he would everything in his power to bring the killer to justice. Sherlock was getting close and he was taken, kidnapped. I couldn't help him. I watched as they took him. It has been over six months now. I am not an idiot, i have been around crime for long enough to know that the longer someone is gone the less chance we have of finding them. Alive. Scotland yard even had a little ceremony…” John breaks off, his voice cracking.

“It’s my fault. I should have never have asked Sherlock to take the case, now he’s gone…” John breaks off with a ragged sob.  
“Watson, please. Don’t blame yourself. This was not your fault.” Ella states.  
“Oh, but it was. I knew Sherlock would do anything for me. I begged him. He took the case and now he’s gone….” John replies.


	2. Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's nightmare begins

Six months earlier 

“John is there something on your mind. One doesn't need to be me to deduce this....” The consulting detective states, his blue eyes wracking over John with concern. John meets Sherlock’s eyes. “I need you. I need your help to find Mary’s killer. You are the only one who I trust to get the job done. I need...I need closure.” John states, his voice barely a whisper. Sherlock doesn't look very surprised at the request. “John…” He begins, choosing his words slowly and carefully. “John, I don’t think this is a good idea. This case… this case is close to home, too personal. I do my best work when I am removed emotionally from the case. Being objective is key and It is impossible with this case. Mary was your wife, but I loved her too. She was like a sister to me. She was like the younger sister I never had. And...the baby…” Sherlock breaks off, his voice wavering slightly. Sherlock hated seeing his best friend like this. John wasn't eating, he barely slept. Most of his waking hours were devoted to pouring over the case files. It was becoming an obsession. An obsession that was slowly destroying him. 

“Sh-Sherlock. Please. I have never begged for anything in my entire life but I am begging you now. I need this. I need you. I can’t do this alone” John says, voice cracking. “And you never have to, John. Of course I will help. For you.” Sherlock relies. “Now for the love of everything good and decent, get some sleep.” Sherlock commands in a downright paternal tone. “I can’t have you collapsing on me.” He continues. John blinks several times, slightly taken back. Sherlock narrows his eyes slightly at John. “I insist.” He states simply. With John shuffling off to his room to get some much needed sleep, Sherlock decided to take a trip to his mind palace. There were so many loose variable, to much ambiguity. What he needed now was connections. Sherlock pads silently to the living room and sits in his chair. Sherlock tucks his gangly frame neatly in chair and dives headfirst into his mind palace. 

Mary Watson. Who are you. Wasn't that the million dollar question. John didn't read the contents of the flash drive, but he did. The action was something Sherlock kept from his John. The biggest reason why he withheld this information was to avoid John’s wrath. The second reason was because John would press him for the information he knew and Sherlock didn't want that. Sherlock wasn't one to drive a wedge in a marriage. 

Sherlock knew Mary used to be a killer, her shooting was like surgery. Enough to hospitalize him but not kill him. With that level of skill, it was clear that her skills were desirable to an employer. Mary was employed to a private agency, one that was deeply secretive and most likely had a criminal intent. their activity was so well hidden that even his brother Mycroft didn't know the full extent of their power and influence. Was it Moriarty’s network? Possibly, but Mycroft was already watching known members. A hit like that would reach Mycroft, so Sherlock could write Moriarty’s network off his list of suspects. It wasn't Moriarty's network, than meant whoever was responsible was powerful and even more dangerous than the Consulting Criminal himself. Sherlock exits his mind palace and stews on that last though with a great deal of concern. There was a new entity at play here. An agency with enough power to order hits on people he loved but small enough to be kept out of sight. 

That was concerning for the detective, very concerning indeed. What did Mary do that they decided to order the attack? She was out of the business. Why go after her now? Sherlock didn't believe in accidents, the universe was rarely so lazy. His experience showed that people are conspiring, calculating things. Sherlock lets out a long heavy sigh, this case was so much more difficult. Sherlock normally had a policy against taking personal cases, and this case was very personal indeed. But yet again, John was his exception. Sherlock sighs. “I swear, that man is going to be the death of me….” 

“Sherlock?” John’s small voice snaps the detective out of his thoughts. Sherlock looks up to see his flatmate leaning against the door-frame of the living room. “Please tell me you have something…” John continues. “Come sit down, it is helpful for me to think and process out loud.” Sherlock says gently. John nods, and walks over quietly to have a seat in his chair. “I feel like I am missing something.” Sherlock admits, with a sigh. “Everyone has their limits, even you.” Was John’s response. Sherlock frowns slightly as he considers that comment. 

“I promised to look after you and Mary. I may have failed her in life but I will be damned before allow son of a bitch who’s responsible to get away with this.” Sherlock hissed, with an icy rage. “Sh-Sherlock, you can’t blame yourself for this.” John replies. “I am not. But I need to resolve this. For both of us. I can’t have a clear slate and mind if i don’t.” Sherlock states simply. 

The detective gets up to pace restlessness. “It is like you said, there is something we could have missed, something small that makes all of this make sense. What is it….? Oh. Oh, my god.” Sherlock gasps, stopping in mid pace. “What is it?” John asks, a glimmer of hope in his expression. “I was wondering why now? And that’s it, it’s timing.” Sherlock says. “I don’t understand…” John states, confused. “Timing, John. Think about it. Mary was killed only a week after the whole fiasco with Charles Magussen.” Sherlock exclaims. “You think she was working for Charles Maguessen…” John begins. 

“Possibly. But think about it. Mary was a skilled sniper connected with this unknown agency. After I shot Charles, it was broadcasted all over web. Someone connected back to the agency must have saw her. Simply put she was getting too much attention, someone could have traced her involvement back to whatever she was involved in. she became a liability, someone they needed to get rid of. So they did.” Sherlock states, now on a roll. “Her cover was blown…” John states, suddenly connecting the pieces himself. “That is exactly what happened. It’s the only thing that makes any sense” Sherlock confirms.  
The detective stands, “I need to call and arrange a meeting with my brother. I need to know all what he knew about your wife. It is as good place as any to begin. You may stay here if you choose. I can deal with Mycroft on my own. In fact I think it would be better for me to deal with him, brother to brother.” Sherlock states grabbing his coat. 

“Hello brother mine.” Sherlock purrs stepping into Mycroft’s office. Mycroft looks up at his younger brother. “I suspected it was a matter of time before you made your way here.” Mycroft sighs. “Then you know why I am here.” Was Sherlock’s stiff reply. Mycroft rises from his chair to fetch something this bookshelf, an envelope. “I knew that you would take up your dear doctor’s case. He is the one thing I cannot argue with you about. The envelope contains everything I know about the woman formerly known as Mary Watson.” Mycroft states. Sherlock steps up to his brother to take the files. “A word of warning, brother mine, be careful.” Mycroft muttered. Sherlock’s brows pulled into frown. “Why the sudden concern?” Sherlock asks. “There is something about this case…” Mycroft muses thoughtfully. “Go on…” Sherlock urges gently. “I make a career of dealing ambiguity and shady characters. As a result, you know that I have a good sense that this case will test you. I just don’t want you to get involved with something too deep that you drown.” Mycroft replies. “How very….poetic of you.” Sherlock smirks. “Brother…” Mycroft frowns. “Alright, fine. i'll keep that in mind.” Sherlock mused, taking the files from Mycroft’s reluctant grasp. 

Sherlock leaves Mycroft’s office to head back to the flat to look over the papers away from prying eyes. From what Mycroft told him, the information was sensitive and possibly classified. In the shadows of the adjacent alley a homeless man pulls out a cell phone makes a call. “It’s just as you suspected. Sherlock Holmes is on the case. He just left his brother’s office.” The man states simply. “You know what to do.” Said the voice on the other line states and hangs up.  
“John.” John wakes up to see his flatmate gently shaking his shoulders. John had fallen asleep on the couch while Sherlock was away. “I hated to wake you, but I have new information on Mary. We need to revisit her crime scene.” Sherlock says softly. John was up immediately. “What are we waiting around for? Lets go.” He said, eager for the first time in months. Like Sherlock, John was eager to put this case behind them.  
The pair arrived at the scene from the cab. It was getting dark. The upcoming night would be abnormally cold one for that time of the year. John was walking behind his friend and couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched. John, a military man, had learned to trust his gut intuition. Sherlock would never admit this out loud, but also relied on John’s instincts, a fact that had saved them both on several different occasions. The little hairs on the back of John’s bristles as he feels that there is something off. He looks around just in time to see a black van roaring right at them. “Sherlock!” He manages yell just at the van pulls up to them In a matter of seconds, half a dozen men were pouring out of the van. All of them were were wearing ski masks. John manages to land a blow before one of them strikes the back of his head. The blow floors the doctor. “John!” Sherlock yells in alarm as the two of them were separated. One man roughly forced a bag over Sherlock’s head, two others restrain his arms. 

John attempts to stand to help his friend, only to receive a sharp kick to his ribs. John collapse down to the cold ground with a strangled gasp. His eyes waver and fill with tears as he fights not to lose consciousness. Between the concussion and fractured ribs, he watched, unable to help as he best friend is bound and thrown into the back of the van. “S-Sherlock…” John gasps, as the his vision goes black. The last thing he hears before passes out is the sound of the tires squealing as the van drives off.


	3. Dark

Sherlock moans, his vision slowly comes to. He blinks, looking around. Assessing the situation, he was on his knees in what looked like a cargo hold of an industrial ship The room was dark, lit only by a solitary light directly overhead. His hands were bound in steel shackles above his head, chained to the piping above him. Sherlock tugs on the shackles lightly to get a sense of how strong they were. But before he had a chance to really try to tug on them, he freezes at the sound of footsteps. 

"Hello, Mister Holmes. Welcome to the Academy. You should be honored, we could have killed you." The voice purrs stepping into the light. The voice was connected to a thin man. Sherlock's lip curled in disgust. The man reminded me of a vulture. He was tall, and thin. He had a hooked nose and dark slicked back hair. But most off putting part of his features were the cold beady black eyes. The man smoothy steps up to the detective and grabs a handful of Sherlock's hair and yanks it painfully back. The man’s other hand grabbed his chin. "But a mind like yours... It would be a sin to destroy. But it does need some, re-calibrations... You should have never come after us, now you are in our way..." The man continues in that velvety tone. Sherlock’s flinched, body coiled, attempting to pull away from the man’s grasp. “Who are you and what do you want?” Sherlock hissed. 

“How rude of me. My name is Doctor Xavier Malak.” Malak purrs, running a hand over Sherlock’s cheek. Sherlock hissed in a sharp breath, his skin crawling. The doctor smiles, showing off his white flat teeth. “You must be some sort of idiot, my brother is going to string you up.” The detective hisses. To Sherlock’s surprise, the doctor simply laughs, a cold dry sound. “Mycroft is no concern of ours. Sure he has power, but The Academy has been around for a long time, Mr. Holmes. You are very much alone here. No one is coming for you.” Was the chilly reply. 

Sherlock tried to be strong, he did. But the doctor firmly squished his last hope, the one thing he was counting on. “What do you intend to do with me?” Sherlock asks, his voice cracking and a few octaves higher. “Humm, I suppose I tell you. It’s not I am going to be giving anything away. Any information I give you isn’t going to help you.” Xavier purrs, walking a circle around Sherlock. “Originally we were going to kill you. But that mind of yours, well, it’s just so rare and gorgeous.... No we are not going to kill you. Although, when we are done, I can’t guarantee you are not going to wish we had. So what are we going to do? We are going to turn you into a weapon, Holmes. You will become the perfect soldier, merciless, cunning, and bloodthirsty. Your empathy shall be removed, a true sociopath.” Xavier smiles at Sherlock’s horrified expression. “You think you know pain... You don’t, not yet. You see this process is a delicate one. You will have to be broken before we can remake you. I see no point in wasting time. Shall we begin?” he purrs.

“One last thing.” The Doctor motions to one of his assistants. They come carrying a leather object. With rising horror, Sherlock realized that it was a muzzle. He thrashes, attempting to free himself before they could bring the infernal device near him. “Now, now, Mr. Holmes, behave. This is so you don’t bite through your lips or one of your new handlers.” Xavier purrs. The doctor steps behind the detective, yanking his hair painfully back.

Sherlock cries out in pain and one of the assistants shove the muzzle around his face, forcing him to bite down onto the leather strap that extended across it, like the bit of a horse’s bridle. The doctor smiles as the straps are secured tightly behind his head. “Feel free to yell and scream as loud as you choose. It’s not going to help you.” Xavier laughs. With that he leaves the detective alone to the devices of his assistants, five total. Sherlock supposed it wasn't important for him to see the people carrying out the ‘re-calibration’ because they all wore black masks. Sherlock decided to call them all it's, because their gender was difficult to determine, nor did it matter. Their anonymously, he correctly assumed, was part of the intimidation process. The intent was clear. Everyone working for this mysterious Academy was capable of inflicting pain. They were his handlers, and they were not going to be gentle. 

One of them wheels in a medical table covered in a sheet. They pull the sheet away to show an imaginative range of tools for inflicting pain. They ranged from blunt and crude to thin and sharp. One of the assistants steps forward with a cruel looking whip. They press the button and it comes alive with a mild charge of electricity. They step behind him and strip him bare, head to toe. Sherlock shivers in the cold damp air and from the terror of what he knew was coming. Sherlock bows his head and bites down on the bit in his mouth. The handler cracks the whip down across his back, cleaving into the flesh. The initial blow was relatively quick and violent. However that wasn't the worst part, the blow left a rancid burn, filling the air with the smell of his own burning flesh was infinitely more horrifying. 

For once, the detective was grateful for the mask, they couldn't see his expression of agony. They crack it down again, and again. Soon Sherlock’s body is shivering violently with agony. Under ten lashes, and he soils himself. Five more and he nearly passes out, sagging against the bonds with tears steam out of his bloodshot eyes. His breaths come out in strained, wheezing gasps. He trembles violently unable to support his own body weight. If he could speak, he would be swearing violently. The fact that he can’t articulate infuriates infinitely more than the scourging they are doing to his back. One of the handlers shut the cell door, sealing them inside. There is a moment of silence before Sherlock’s agonized screams fill the dark corridors.


	4. John's Languish

~Four weeks have passed since Sherlock’s disappearance~

“John. I thought I might find you here. You need to get some sleep.” Lestrade’s gentle voice cuts into the fog of John’s mind. John looks up at the clock hanging in the precinct. It’s 2 am. John had been pouring over the case file and evidence looking for connections in Sherlock's disappearance. So far there has been absolutely nothing. No dark whispers in the underground network. There was no paper or electronic trail. If John didn't know better, he would have guessed that Sherlock had been spirited away ghosts. Each passing day wore on everyone’s sanity, John’s in particular. Simply put without substance to back up the case of Sherlock’s case, Scotland Yard had given up and accepted the simple conclusion. That Sherlock was dead. After all, there was other cases that needed to be attended to. One person, however, had never given up despite the dwindling hope: John Watson. 

“I will sleep when Sherlock’s back, safe. It’s more than I can say for the rest of your staff.” John snapped, practically growling. Lestrade is silent, and doesn't respond to the clear stab against him and his staff. Lestrade looks John over. Though the DI had grey hair, it never aged him. However when looking at how John was being affected by Sherlock’s disappearance, Lestrade looked very old indeed. Lestrade’s frown lines had increased, these last few weeks had been hell for both of them. 

John had lost a significant amount of weight. He didn't eat despite everyone’s prodding to do so. He barely slept. Lestrade knew because he didn't dare leave him alone. John had lost the three people he had loved the most. Mary, his unborn child, and now his best friend Sherlock Holmes. Lestrade refuses to leave John alone in the fear that he might do something….drastic like taking his own life, or turn to other substances as a means to cope. If Lestrade couldn't be there himself, he would employ the help of a trusted agent or friend. 

“John… Look at me.” Lestrade says gently, kneeling beside his friend, removing the papers from John;s hands. John looks up, his eyes are bloodshot. Lestrade figures that John can’t physically cry anymore tears. John’s summer blue eye clouded over with an immeasurable amount of pain. Lestrade hated what he was about to say, but damn it, someone had to. “John….” Lestrade breaks off and moans in pain. “John we are going to change Sherlock’s case from ongoing missing person’s to murder. I am calling off the search.” Lestrade mutters. John was still for a few agonized seconds before the man was in his feet. The military man roared to life and John was livid. “How dare you! Sherlock’s not dead!” John lunges at Lestrade, grabbing hold of the front of his shirt. John gives the DI a thorough shake and yells “He’s not dead...not dead...not dead… Oh God, he can’t be dead, not again. He promised me….” John’s angry voice loses all its passion to be replaced with a broken sob. 

All the while, Lestrade simply looks down at the shorter man with an expression that was both sad and calm. “Not dead...not dead...dead…” John repeats the mantra, breaking off to sob loudly. He still clinging to Lestrade, now for more support rather than to throttle the DI. Lestrade puts his arm around, hugging John and holding up as John’s knees buckle. Lestrade’s breath shakes slightly as he realizes he’s crying as well. “I am so sorry...John. John, I am so sorry…” Lestrade whispers, barely heard over John’s wet sobs, face buried into Lestrade’s collar.


	5. Shattered

~Two more weeks have passed~

Time. Time had become relative for Sherlock. He knew time was passing but had no concept of the days. Hours felt like days. Days felt like weeks. Weeks felt like years. Pain was his only companion. The dark was his only comfort. His captors would leave cold and shivering in the darkness after each session. The anticipation, the waiting often was just as bad as the actual sessions. Sherlock would sit alone in the dark, wondering of what new and endeavored ways they would find to inflict pain upon his suffering body. He had often said that alone protected him, but alone was his worst enemy when he was left with nothing but his own imagination. His imagination in those dark moments was becoming more and more twisted. 

Sherlock could feel himself come apart at the seams. His mental sanity was held together with a single name: John Watson. John Watson was the only thing that kept Sherlock grounded in reality, they only thing that allowed himself to take the pain and to keep going. John Watson was the only thing that was keeping him alive when all he wanted was to give in. Sherlock made a promise, his last vow. He intended to keep it matter how much suffering he had to go through. 

However, the simple fact was that he wanted to die. That was not a privilege his captors allowed. Sherlock looks around his cell balefully, it smelled of blood, filth and hopelessness, all of which was his. He shivers slightly, the thin rags they provide to conceal his nudity did little to keep the chill of the damp cell at bay. The time at the Academy had been his own version of hell. There was no mirror in his cell, but Sherlock knew that he battered body looked as badly as he felt. His captors fed him only what was necessary to sustain his life. As a result, he lost all spare body fat. All his bones stood out in startling relief against his sickly skin. Normally, his skin was a healthy color of porcelain. Now the skin that was not battered and scourged by crusting wounds and raised scars took on a slightly greyish blue sheen from malnutrition. His normally dark lustrous hair hung down in thin strings down his face. 

Sherlock flinches slightly at the sound of his cell door opening on its squeaky hinges, spilling light into the dark cell. He sighs and calmly looks up as Doctor Xavier walks in accompanied by two of the masked handlers. Sherlock knew now not to fight back when they came to collect him. In the beginning, he had tried to fight back the first time they came to get him, but that only caused for a more rigorous scolding, to put him in his place. 

Sherlock’s lip curls in utter contempt for the Doctor. For the detective, the doctor was the face of his suffering. Oddly enough, because all the handlers wore masks to remain anonymous, Sherlock somehow envisioned that they all wore Xavier’s face. Sherlock hated the man with a burning passion deep within him. He wanted the man dead. Sherlock normally would be scared of such a feeling, but he didn’t care. 

Xavier eyes Sherlock, his eyes glittering with a manic glee and turns to one of his assistants. “Take Mister Holmes to the lab. He’s ready for the final phase.” Xaver purrs. The assistant stride forward and yank Sherlock to his feet. Sherlock struggles briefly, knowing that this time was different. One of the handlers sock him harshly in his already thin abdomen. Sherlock cries out softly but simply doesn’t have the physical strength to back up the burning hatred that glowered in the base of his stomach. The handlers half carry, half drag the detective into the laboratory. Sherlock’s eyes widen at the sight of what was waiting for him. The Academy's scientists had set up a horrifying piece of machinery with a seat built into the center. 

Xavier smiles at Sherlock’s horrified expression. “Yes, Mister Holmes, this is the final piece of the puzzle to break you. To make you into the weapon. As you have probably deduced, the intent of this lovely device is to strip you of all those pesky sentiments and memories of your previous life. Don’t worry you will have your raw intelligence and mind palace. You will be free at last to reach your full potential, unhindered by your previous morals and ethics. Isn’t that grand?” Xavier purrs with that sinister voice of his. 

“N-no…” is the only thing Sherlock can manage before the handlers are forcing him to the device. Sherlock cries out, kicking and clawing to no avail. “Now, now, Holmes please do cooperate. I know this hasn’t been easy on you but you are almost free. Just one last moment of pain…” The doctor purrs, as the assistants manage to pin Sherlock down and strap him in. 

Sherlock was full on sobbing now without shame. “Kill me...please… Just don’t… Don’t do this.” Sherlock begs. Xavier smiles, a horrifying thing that seems to split across his face like a festering wound. Without further adue, Xavier switches on the device. Two electrodes slam down into Sherlock’s temples. Sherlock arches, his spine contorting in painful and unnatural angle. The pain before was absolutely nothing compared to this. “John!” The detective screams out his best friend’s name as it’s the last thought his rational mind can form before it snaps and shatters. Sherlock senses dull and his whole world goes dark. 

…  
…  
…

“Welcome to the new age, Mister Holmes….”


	6. Diabolical

~Elsewhere, in an undisclosed location … Six months have passed since Sherlock’s abduction~

The consulting criminal, Jim Moriarty was livid. “Six months. It’s been six months with nothing.” Jim hisses, barely in control of his emotions. Jim's network was vast, there was very little the escaped his attention. Especially when it came to Sherlock Holmes. The fact that Sherlock disappeared and taken without a trace infuriated Jim on so many levels. The way he say it was that Sherlock was his to kill. Jim was also aware of the Academy’s movements, they had been a source of amusement for the consulting criminal for some time now. Jim found it deliciously devious when Academy took out Mary Watson. After all, Jim wanted Sherlock back in the game. Sherlock was always at his best when he had his his ever loyal John Watson. Mary Watson was a distraction. Jim was planning on dispatching her himself, but the Academy saved him the trouble. Jim never did like getting his hands dirty. 

The only reason why Jim allowed Academy's activity to continue is because he enjoyed watching the Holmes brother’s dance to figure out the problem. Now, however, they a crossed a line. Simply put, Jim felt threatened and insulted by them. It was a mistake he was not going to make twice. Despite all the trouble Jim gave the detective, he never actually wanted to kill Sherlock. Jim was far too entertained by the detective. In a way, Sherlock completed Jim and Jim completed Sherlock. A hero was only as good as their adversary. Every good fairy tale needed a good old fashioned villain. 

Moriarty sat with his feet on his desk musing over the disappearance of his nemesis. Suddenly the doors to Jim’s office open. Jim is instantly alert to see his right hand man and sniper Sebastian Moran walking towards him. Jim often called Moran tiger, the man was just as vicious and bloodthirsty as Jim was. Unlike Jim, Moran had absolutely no concern with getting his hands dirty. Moran was a military man, with a history of combat. His viciousness was only matched with his skill at sharp shooting. Moran was the only one Jim trusted to take out John Watson should Sherlock refuse to take his great Fall. But that was then, this was now. Now Moran had a worried look in his steely grey eyes and his mouth was set at a firm line. 

“What happened?” Jim asks, reading Moran’s expression. Moran hesitates and then speaks the three words Jim had been craving to hear. “I found him.” Moran states. Jim’s eyes are blown wide, and lets out a joyous noise. Moran, however, puts up a hand up to tell Jim to wait a moment. “Jim there is something you should know. They have...done things to Sherlock. Terrible things, even by our standards. I may have found where they are keeping him but there is no guarantee that he’s… alive or how you remember him.” Moran states carefully. Jim nods at his sniper’s implications. “Get your gun, my love. We have work to do,” Jim purrs.

Jim and Sebastian, armed to the teeth invade the Academy’s headquarters. Jim had murder in his eyes, pity the foolish soul that got in his way. Jim normally never got his hands dirty, but for the Academy's disrespect, he would make an exception. Jim wanted to make an example out of each and every one of them he could get his hands on. 

“Boss...over here.” Moran’s voice cuts through the fog of Moriarty’s plans for revenge. Jim joins his sniper at a large metal door. Moran was splattered with the blood of the two guards who had foolishly tried to stop him. Jim curls his lip slightly and steps over the corpses avoiding the pool of dark red that grew under the bodies. Jim steps up to Moran’s side and looked into the window of the cell. Inside the cell was dimly lit but occupied. A hunched over figure in a straight jacket was hunched in the long cast shadows of the overhead lights. Jim could see that he was strapped down into a wheelchair. His head was bowed, black stringy hair concealing his face.“Is that--?” Jim stammers. “I believe so.” Moran replies. 

Moran retrieves the keys from the guards and opens the cell door. With Moran covering Jim at the door, Jim steps into the darkness of the cell. Jim nearly throws up at the smell that assaulted him. It smelled of dirty bodies and blood. Jim reaches Sherlock and very cautiously drops to a knee beside the detective to check his pulse. Without warning, Sherlock moves and raises his head. Jim inhales sharply, eyes blowing wide in shock. 

“Oh my God...Sherlock…” Jim gasps. Sherlock was wearing the leather and plastic mask over his mouth. They only part of his face that was visible was his eyes and forehead. Sherlock’s irises had absolutely no life in them, being almost entirely drained of color. What color they did came from the intensely bloodshot veins in whites of his eyes. He had deep bruising around his eyes, forming rings that were almost black against his bone-white skin. There was absolutely no recognition in those pale eyes, Jim realized. Jim stepped forward and gently placed a hand on the back of the detective’s head to remove the straps of the mask. As Jim expected, there was more bruising along Sherlock’s face and jawline. Jim also suspected what he saw was only a small fraction of the damage. 

“Who are you?” Sherlock asks softly, making Jim cringe at the sound of his voice. “It’s Jim, daring…” Jim purrs, his apprehension growing. There’s absolutely no way that Sherlock would forget him. Well, not unless the Academy screwed him over in nearly every sense of the word. Sherlock shakes his head slightly. “Doesn’t ring a bell…” Sherlock states simply. “You will remember soon enough, I am sure….” Jim states as he goes to work undoing the straps on the jacket from the back. All the while, Jim’s mind whirls like clockwork, trying to figure out how this could have happened. 

Now freed from the bonds, Sherlock rises up from the chair. His movements are careful, deliberate of those of someone in pain. The fabric of the clothing hung off him and was splattered with the burgundy color of dried blood. “You are coming with us. We have to get out of here.” Jim says as Moran calls out a warning that the guards were coming. “Why should I trust you?” Sherlock asks. Jim smirks slightly at that though. “Well did just break you out. But the fact of the matter is that’s up to you. You are welcome to stay here….But make your choice quickly, the rest of the staff is coming.” Jim purrs. Sherlock eyes Jim suspiciously and then, much to Jim’s surprise, he smiles. “Give me a weapon.” Sherlock commands, his voice lowering to a sinister sound. Jim hesitates, considering his options. He smirks and tosses Sherlock a pistol. Sherlock catches it easily and in a flash has it assembles it to be ready to fire. Sherlock steps out of cell behind Moran as the three of of them charge down the hallways. 

There’s movement in the corner. Sebastian opens his mouth to warn Jim as one of the officials raise a gun to fire. but there isn’t enough time to react, Sebastian knows that. But not Sherlock. Much to the Moran’s surprise, it was Sherlock who sprung into action by surging forward to drive his elbow into the man’s side.The movement was quick and very violent, more of a practiced reflex than anything else.  
The man cries out in pain and drops the gun in shock. The man tries a wild haymaker but Sherlock ducks under it and spins to snatch the knife out of his belt. Sherlock forces the man against the wall of the hallway with the knife pressed up to his chest. “Hello pet…” Sherlock purrs leaning into the terrified man. Sherlock bares his teeth in a threatening smile that looked like a snarl. “I have one question for you and one alone. What the hell did you people do to me and why?” Sherlock purrs in an eerily soft voice, twisting the knife slightly into the man’s soft flesh of his abdomen. The man looks in panic to Moran and Jim for help. Jim simply shrugs at the man’s distress, he was not about to step in. 

“Look at me!” Sherlock growls, grabbing the man’s face. “I don’t think I made it clear to you. Answer me or I will gut you like the pig that you are…” Sherlock growls. Sebastian and Jim exchange looks as they watch the scene unfolding with fascination. “What did you people do to me?” Sherlock hissed. “W-we stipped you of your empathy and gave you a clean mental slate. You have all practical knowledge relating to what you can use for combat. You are the perfect weapon, intelligent and ruthless. O-or so they say. Okay now please let me go, please oh God.” The man snivels in terror. 

“Shh, shh shhhhh… You are doing so well. One last thing I would like to know….Where are the others responsible?” Sherlock purrs, drawing the cold steel of the blade up the man’s stomach. The man shivers, clearly terrified. “I-I don’t know. They scattered when your friends stormed the base.” He stammers. Sherlock’s nose and lips contort into a fearsome snarl. “I am sorry, pet, but that was the wrong answer.” Sherlock growls. The poor unfortunate man has enough time to let out one long agonized scream as Sherlock proceeds to butcher him. In one quick and violent movement, Sherlock literally guts the man, spilling the man’s entrails upon the floor. “I think I will get second opinion.” Sherlock says with coy apathy with the sheer brutality that he had just displayed, cleaning the blade uncaringly across the dead man’s uniform. Jim and Sebastian exchange shocked expressions. “Let’s go.” Sherlock commands and turns to run down the hall to the exit, the consulting criminals at his heels.


	7. Dealing with Devils

Jim and Sebastian take Sherlock back to their shared flat. Sherlock stands in the living area, his intelligent eyes taking in his new surroundings with interest. “So this is your flat...Charming…” Sherlock observes. “Why thank you. How are you feeling now that you have some food and water in your system.” Jim asks. “I am not sure what better feels like but I suppose this is it.” Sherlock answers, silently padding with his careful, deliberate steps. Sherlock stops and turns back to look at Moriarty. “It’s Jim, right? Or do you prefer something else?” Sherlock asks.

“Jim’s fine.... However, you may call me anything you want, pet. I wouldn’t mind if you want to call me ‘darling’ or ‘love’ if you feel so inclined.” Jim states playful causing Sebastian to roll his eyes and make a frustrated sound. Jim grins playfully and Moran and skips over to Sherlock’s side to look up at him. “Sooooo...you are welcome to stay here, we have a spare room. It would be wise for you to have a place to crash before we can figure out what they did to you.” Jim purrs. 

“Your willing to...help me?” Sherlock asks, a bit taken back. “Of course I am. Don’t be obvious, Sherlock darling, I am your friend.. your ally in this. Do you think I would have brought you to our flat if I thought otherwise?” Came Jims coy reply. “How considerate of you.” Sherlock replies. “Ain’t it just…”Jim smirks.

Sherlock nods his thanks and moves into the other room. He moves over to the bed and gently presses the mattress with the palm of his hand. His eyebrows shoot up at the softness. With a thin moan of joy, he practically collapses down onto it. Jim leans in the doorway of the guest room and laughs softly. Despite all Jim anger with the Academy, he couldn't help but enjoy this new version of Sherlock. Jim turns, shutting the door as he leaves.

The next day, Jim comes out of the room to see Sherlock sitting at his table with his feet propped up. Jim was bemused to see that Sherlock had raided his closet and was wearing one of his Westwoods. “You have been a naughty boy, Jimmy…. Very naughty boy indeed.” Sherlock states, looking at Jim over the tip of his nose. His eyes flickered and wavered like flames. “Oh?” Jim inquiries, raising an eyebrow. 

“You lied to me. You see, while I might not have memories of my previous life, I can tell when people are withholding the truth. I know when I am being manipulated, God knows I have plenty of experience with that the last year and a half. But that’s not the point. The point is that I now have information on you. I found out while you were asleep in bed. According to the records I looked up, we did-do know each other. But not as friends. Quite the opposite in fact, we were adversaries. You are the Consulting Criminal, the only one in the world.. ” Sherlock states, watching Jim’s facial expressions with interest. 

Jim simply shrugs, a nonchalant gesture. “I might be…” he states. Much to Jim’s shock, Sherlock’s face breaks into a very toothy grin. “Oh, come now don’t be modest… I am not mad… Quote the opposite in fact.” Sherlock says, rising to his feet. Jim raises his eyebrows in surprise.  
“Oh…? Go on.” Jim encourages. “The simple point of the matter is that you and I could benefit working together. I don’t just want the Academy dead for what they did to me…. No, I want to burn them and paint London red with their blood. I want to make them scream and beg for death. Naturally, being a merciful person, I will give the privilege of death they never gave me.” Sherlock purrs. his voice surprisingly calm and even. 

“Soooo you’re asking for my help.” Jim smirks. “Naturally. The Academy threatens your power and crime web. You are the Consulting Criminal, after all...and I would like to employee you.” Sherlock states. “An enemy of an enemy….is my friend?” Jim asks. “For now.”


	8. Dark Revelations

With it being being nearly a half a year since his best friend’s abduction, John became a shell of a man. Sure, he put on a brave face for the sake of the people who still cared about him, but in reality he was a dead man walking. His therapist asked him in his last session what he would say upon his death. He lied, because his answer was ‘finally’ after the moths of hell. He wanted it all to end. He lived through Sherlock dying once, he wasn’t sure he could do it again, not without Mary. 

On his way home, a black car pulled beside John on the street. The car door opened to show the solum face of the elder Holmes brother, “Doctor Watson. We need to talk.” Mycroft stated, opening the door for him. John noded, knowing it was pointless to argue, and he was too tired to. He slides into the car to settle upon the leather seats. Mycroft signals his driver to proceed. “Its been a while, Mycroft.” John says softly, making small talk. “I havent seen you since the...ceremony at Scotland Yard.” John says softly.

Mycroft eyed the doctor, reading him in a very Holmes-like manner. Mycroft breaks the gaze and looks down at his umbrella that his hands were resting on. “I am afraid this is not a social call. I have been trying to limit my contact with you for reasons I think we both know.” Mycroft states softly. John nods, understanding. Despite his efforts to say otherwise, Mycroft loved his brother. Seeing the doctor without his baby brother's hovering shadow was painful beyond words. John knew this and seeing Mycroft was also painful. Mycroft would never admit this, but he and Sherlock were more similar than they would ever know. Seeing Mycroft, John was reminded of his best friend. It was almost like Sherlock’s memory hovered around Mycroft like a ghost. 

“So if this is not a social call, what is this?” John asks. “I need your help.” came the answer. John scoffs, “You are the British government, what on earth could you need me for.”  
“It pertains to the matter of the heart.”  
“I am afraid I don’t have one. It disappeared with your brother.”  
“Well...we found it.”  
“....What.”  
“It’s Sherlock, John. We found him.”

There’s a stunned silence from the doctor as his throat closes up. “Is he-?” John rasped. “Alive? I guess you could say so. But he’s a shell of a man.” Mycroft stated, suddenly looking very old. “What are we waiting for? We need to go get him.” John barked, eyes on fire. “I would if I could. But Sherlock is in the company of Jim Moriarty.” Mycroft sighed. “Oh my god...what has that idiot gotten himself into.”John groaned. “I am afraid you have it backwards. You think that Sherlock is kidnapped. but it’s not the case. They are working consensually together. I gather to go after the people who kidnapped Sherlock. Which brings us back to you and I John. You knew Sherlock best, better than me even. How could this have happen, to be working with his adversary.” Mycroft asks. 

John stews over the information for a moment and suddenly it all clicks. “Oh...no…” John groans. “What?” Mycroft asks. “They...broke him. The people who kidnapped Sherlock. They broke him. They broke the most brilliant mind in London.”John gasps. “Then my worst fears are confirmed.” Mycroft states, rubbing his face with his hands. 

“What now?” 

“I wish I knew.”


	9. Blood and Steel

Back in the center of Moriarty’s web

Sherlock was standing in front of a large monitor, looking over the data as he and the Consulting Criminal had been collecting on the Academy. The large doors opened and the Crime King himself saunters in with a cup of tea. “Sherly, my pet, I brought you some tea. I thought it would do well to warm your bones…” He purrs in his sing-songy tones. “How considerate of you.” Sherlock stated, looking up at Moriarty strides up to him. Moriarty smirked, and made sure his hands brushed up against the Detective’s as he passed the cup over. “Aren’t I just? So are we feeling today? I want to make sure you are in fighting condition as soon as possible, for obvious reasons.” Jim continued, leaning against the desk, dark eyes flickering like black pools. 

“I feel murderous.” Sherlock stated matter of factually, sipping on his tea. Moriarty laughed softly, a grin pulling on his lips. “What’s that look for?” Sherlock asked, an eyebrow pulling up slightly on his thin face. “Ohhh nothing much.” Jim purrs. “Come now that’s not true. Induuuulge me.” Sherlock asked, eyes glittering. “Very well… I will tell you. I can’t help it, I like the way your mind works.” Jim’s eyes flicked up and down. “You are me.” He said simply. Sherlock laughed softly. “So you are not disappointed? That your adversary is gone, are we? Because you and I...well…” Sherlock trailed off. Jim raised an eyebrow, and waited for him to continue. 

“You and I could make a great team. The world’s only Consulting Criminal and Detective. Together, you and I could bring this world to its knees or watch it burn. Depending on how bored we get. How does that sound?” Sherlock asked, now nose to nose with Moriarty. 

Jim lets his breath out in a soft hiss. Even though his eyes were dark, the Detective could see his pupils expand. Jim bit his lip slightly, barely suppressing a shiver of delight that rushed down his spine. “Ohh, Holmes…. you are too much.” Jim purred. 

“Am I now?” was the snarky reply from Sherlock. “You are so damn enticing, like dark coffee or chocolate, bitter and dark. I could just eat you up…” Jim’s voice dropped to a sinisterly suggestive tone. “Mmmm…. I just might. You might like it, pet.” Jim says eyeing Sherlock one might look at something delicious. 

Without warning, the Consulting Criminal was pressing himself up against the detective. For a few seconds Sherlock was too shocked to react as Moriarty kissed him possessively, forcing him up against the edge of the heavy table. The shock wore off and Sherlock realized what was going to happen as Moriarty's hand moved grab a handful of his shirt to shove Sherlock roughly down on the table. 

Sherlock let out a snarl and reacted. Moving quickly, Sherlock closes his hand around Jim’s wrist and yanks. Jim lets out a yelp of surprise and pain as he finds that Sherlock had slammed him face down onto the table arm twisted and pinched into a painful contortion. 

“Let me make this abundantly clear to you, pet… You will not try something like that again. I was literally screwed over by the Academy, you understand my reaction, no?” Sherlock purrs. Moriarty moans softly in pain, unable to come up with something sassy or clever. 

“Know your place.” Sherlock growled. “And what’s that?” Jim asks in a strained voice. “Exactly how we are now, with you beneath me.” came Sherlock’s answer. Jim whimpers slightly as he feels Sherlock drag something cold across the bare skin of back. The fabric had been pushed up in the scuffle. Jim hissed as he feels the bade bite into his skin, as Sherlock applied enough pressure to break the skin and create a shallow cut. Jim yelped, his spare hand clawing at the ta  
ble. 

Sebastian, hearing the scuffle, came rushing in to help his employer. “Seb, don’t!” Jim moaned, the knife too close to his spine. Sherlock’s point had been made, he released the Crime King to saunter to the door. 

Sebastian eyed the man formally known as William Sherlock Scott Holmes. Moran stood in the way of the Detective’s path to the door. For a brief moment the two stared each other down, like two predators, waiting for the other to blink first and submit. In the end, it was Moran that blinked first. Moran backs off, averting his eyes and stepping out of the way. “Good dog.” Sherlock snarled, smirking. 

Simply put, the man put the sniper off in ways he couldn't express. Jim was insane as well, but he was Sebastian's kind of crazy. Jim was evil, Sherlock was wicked. Sherlock was cruel and twisted in ways that fundamentally off even by Jim’s standards. Simply put, Sherlock terrified him.


	10. Reunited

After Mycroft had told John of the news of Sherlocks survival, the thought of the detective being alive was the only thing the doctor could think about. Sherlock had saved his life on so many occasions, John owed Sherlock far too much to just leave him alone. He needed to save Sherlock, even it it meant saving Sherlock from himself. He would find the detective, even if it meant the death of him. In John’s mind, he had nothing else to live for except this.

Little did John know that it wouldn’t be him finding the detective, though that outcome would be preferred. The detective would find him first. John was getting close, he could feel it. John found himself tracking down a lead. John stops in his tracks, his gut feeling told him that something was wrong. He was being followed. John, after his time in the military and working cases with Sherlock learned to trust his gut feeling for danger, his sixth sense had saved his life on many different occasions. However, John had been obsessed with finding his friend that he had been ignoring this gut feeling. Now what he was at last paying attention to it, it was too late. John feels an arm go around his waist, the other pushed a chemical rag against his mouth and nose. A surprised gasp and the world goes dark.

John came too to see that he was tied to a stiff chair in the center of a large room of a warehouse. The whole room was dark except a single overhead light that sputtered and flickered. John tensed as he hears the sharp metallic sound of a knife being sharpened off to his right. Most people would be terrified and John was scared, sure. But he wouldn’t have lived this long and saved so many lives had he not been calm under stress.

“Alright, I am awake. Whatever you are going to do to me, get it over with!” John shouted into gloom. The sound of the sharpening stopped, casting an eerie uncomfortable silence. John’s ears strained to hear the sound of footsteps upon the concrete coming closer. The shadows move and condense to form a figure of a thin man, but his face is still hidden. The man slowly raised his head and the light reflects off the figure’s eyes, pale blue. John’s breath inhaled sharply as the figure came to stand in the light. John’s mouth opens into a wide O of shock. He had expecting to see the face of Moriarty, instead he saw the face of a ghost.

....  
.... 

“Oh my god….Sherlock….”


	11. Heart of Ice

As Sherlock moved closer, John’s horror and apprehension grew. John understood why he didn't recognize his friend right away. Sherlock’s lustrous curls were gone, cut off with razor. That was the first thing Sherlock did when he was rescued by Moriarty was cut all his hair off. His hair was too matted and disgusting to leave alone. That was not the only change to Sherlock’s physicality. The detective was always had a thin, lithe frame. Now he looked like a dead man walking. Deep dark rings were around his eyes, a sharp contrast against his pale skin. His thinner face left his cheeks hollow, the bones stuck out painfully. Altogether, the detective had a ghoulish appearance. He looked like the angel of death, knocking on your door in the dead of night to collect your soul.

But it wasn't just his physical appearance that made John aprinensive. No, John knew enough to know there was something very wrong. It was in the way Sherlock was looking at him with those pale eyes. His eyes were like ice: cold, detached, unfamiliar and very cruel. John realized right then that this man this thing, whatever it was, was not Sherlock. At least, not in the way John knew and loved. John had the uncomfortable feeling of this stranger wearing the mask of his best friend.

At last the man who looked like Sherlock spoke. “You must be very brave or very stupid to come searching for me. I am not the man easy to find but you...got my attention.”

John shivers, the man’s voice was so achingly familiar yet so wrong because it wasn't his friend. “Sherlock.”John says softly, not sure what else to say. For once words failed him. 

“You know who I am. But I can’t say the same about you. I have no idea who you are.” Sherlock purrs. “It’s John. Your John Watson. Your best friend.” John states, looking up at Sherlock, his eyes begging the detective silently for him to remember him.

Sherlock smiled slightly and circled John, still tied down to the chair. “Humm… I would say we did know one another at one time. I say we knew each other well. You are the military type. Loyal to a fault. No one would come after me like you did, not unless you cared about me like a brother.” Sherlock broke off to think about that. Sherlock smiled, a toothy smile that made John’s skin crawl. “How sentimental. Oddly endearing, really. You remind me of a lost little puppy, how nauseating.” Sherlock barked with laughter.

"Look at you… you care so much. Must be exhausting! I would pity you if I could.” Sherlock laughed as he paced around the chair and was now standing in front of John. “Do yourself a favor, Watson. Forget your friend. Your friend is dead. The sooner you accept that the better. Not that I care either way.” Sherlock continues.

John flinched visibly at Sherlock’s words. “It wouldn't be the first time that you have died to me. But this…. this I cannot accept. I just can’t.” John mumbled, determined. Sherlock raises an eyebrow at John’s words. “You are not going to give up on me, are you.” Sherlock states. It wasn't a question, it was Sherlock’s confirmation of what they both knew to be true.

"Never. Never have, never will.”


	12. Kerosene and Addictions

“So what now? What do you intend to do with me?” John asked softly, looking up at Sherlock’s looming shadow. “Isn’t that the big question.” was Sherlock’s retort.

John shivered slightly at the sound of the oh so familiar baritone purr. It was a sound that he thought that he would never hear again, a sound that he craved even more than the heroine the detective himself craved. 

“Jim, pet, get in here. I want your input.” Sherlock calls over one of his slim shoulders. The door opens again and the consulting criminal steps into the room. “Johnny boy...hello. Did you miss me?” Jim asked. “What have you done?” John growled. “To Sherlock? Nothing, love… I saved him. Saved him from the Academy.” Jim snapped, his dark eyes flashing.

“Put the rulers away, gents.” Sherlock laughs. “Jim I want your input for this situation, not exchange verbal blows with Watson here.” Sherlock smirks. “Quite right, Holmes.” Jm responded, as he stepped up beside Sherlock. “Suggestions?” Sherlock asked. “We can’t just let him go, he will go to the authorities. We can’t have that, all our work will be undone.” Jim drawled, walking a circle around John tied to the chair, moving with a lazy predatory grace. “We could just kill him, you know. Keep it simple. He would make a lovely pair of shoes.” Jim suggested, as he looked back at Sherlock.

“No.” John interrupted sharply, “Lock me up, torture me, do whatever you want. But I have nothing to hide. All I want is Sherlock, that’s all. I will do anything you want.” John said. “That’s quite the offer….” Sherlock mused. Jim smiled as understanded the depravity of the desperation that John’s mental state was in. Jim knew that John was addicted to danger, but now John was addicted to Sherlock himself. And a loyalty like that….well...it couldn’t be replicated. Jim reckoned there wasn’t a thing John wouldn’t do for for Sherlock. John would even kill for the detective, John had already proven that once.

“You said so yourself, Sherlock. We knew one another. You don’t know this, but I am your best friend.” John stated. “You are right.” Sherlock said. “You know…. We could keep him….I have Sebastian. Perhaps it’s only fair you have a pet as well. Whatta say.” Jim purred. “I like the idea. But is he going to behave? Will he play nice?” Sherlock asked with one slim brow raised. “I will play your game.” John confirmed. Sherlock smirked. “Wise choice.”

“Now can you untie me? My wrists are starting to bleed. I will not run. Where’s nowhere for me to go.” John shrugged. Sherlock tisked “Jim...you really must tell your boys to be more careful with the hostages….” Sherlock smirked as he pulled out a knife to cut the zip ties at John’s ankles and wrists.

“Well what can I say, they are a handful.” Jim laughed. Sherlock rolls his eyes and cuts John’s bonds to allow the doctor to stand. Sherlock closes a hand around John’s arm, raising it to inspect the damaged skin. Sure enough, the bonds had broken the skin of his wrists and the blood had begin to drip from the cuts. “Let’s have that attended to in the infirmary, Watson. Follow me.” Sherlock commanded, motioning with a long finger for the doctor to follow him. With a swish of the jacket, Holmes strides out of the room to the infirmary. He didn’t bother to check to see if the doctor was following, knowing that he would. John doesn’t even hesitate as he fell into step behind the detective.


	13. Smoke and Mirrors

“Sit.” Sherlock commanded, motioning with a slight inclination of his head to the cot. John does so, and had a chance to really look at the state Sherlock was in. Before the Consulting Detective was taken from John, Sherlock had taken the liberty to teach his doctor the basics of deduction.

John used some of these tips now to watch Sherlock as he moved to get the antiseptic and bandages. The first thing that stood out was the way he moved. Sherlock was moving with careful, deliberate steps of someone in agony. That realization yanked painfully at John’s heartstrings. “Sherlock.” John said softly.

Sherlock came back over and began to work on John’s wrists. John ignores the sharp sting and watched Sherlock’s face. “Sherlock. How much do you recall?” John asked softly. “Of what?” Came the response. “Everything. Of me. Yourself. What happened?” John ventured.

Sherlock, shrugged, a distinctly dismissive gesture.”Not much, I confess. At least not while I am awake.” Sherlock responded as he moved onto the other cut. John frowned at the comment but Sherlock refused to go into more detail of what he just said. “So in terms of what I know about you is nonexistent.” Sherlock continued. John sadly looked at the ground, away from Sherlock. The movement caused Sherlock to raise an eyebrow. “Do do I intimidate you? Is that why you refuse to look at me?” He asked. “No,” John sighed, “That not it at all. The fact of the matter is that I feel the remaining part of my heart is breaking. It hurts. It hurts to see someone you love so much to be reduced to a shell of who they once were.” John stated in a voice that was barely above a whisper.

Looking at Sherlock now just reminded the doctor how much he missed his Sherlock. Sherlock had once made the comment that he was a sociopath, but that wasn’t true, not then at least. Now that Sherlock really was one, a sociopath, John realized the stark difference between the two versions.

His friend Sherlock might be an idiot sometimes when it came to social cues, but he had a heart of gold. Damn, the man threw someone out the window for scuffing up his landlady. Sherlock was abrasive, sure, but John knew that abrasiveness was held in-part to turn people off to protect himself. The point of the matter was that Sherlock was like a tootsie lollipop: Hard outer shell protecting a soft gooey inside. Sherlock was the bravest, kindest man John had ever met. Sherlock was the most human, human John had ever met. But now that man was gone and John missed him so severely that it caused a dull ache in the deepest parts of him.

“You know...I am mildly shocked you haven’t tried to kill me. You must have some sort of self preservation left in you. Right? You were a soldier...It would simpler for you, I would think.” Sherlock stated as he finished binding John’s wrists. “I couldn’t.” John retorted. “You were a soldier, you killed people.” Sherlock responded, not understanding.

John sighed and suddenly looked very old. “Yes...I did. In total eighty people. Eighty people who had families. Mothers, fathers, siblings. Wives and children too, I reckon. The people who I killed had others who loved them. And to kill you would be killing myself.” John responded, eyes locked with Sherlock’s ice ones.

“Are you saying you love me?” Sherlock asked. “Yes...I suppose I am.” John whispered. Sherlock, for once, had no snarky response to John’s sentimental testament. Instead, he simply sighed and stepped back. “If you excuse me, I require sleep. One of the guards will take you to your room. And don’t worry, no one will harm you.” Sherlock stated.

fortunate that you are my pet and not Jim’s. Jim is not the most gentle handler to his pets. You would understand that when you attend to Moran as a doctor.” Sherlock purred, leaning in to grasp John chin. Sherlock ran his thumb over John’s chin as he continued to speak. “You would do well to keep that in mind. You should show some respect.” Sherlock smirked slightly as John shivered slightly at his subtle threat and stepped back to give some room. “I look forward to working with you in the future.” Sherlock purred and left the room.


	14. Requiem

John was allowed to move through the compound at his own leasure. Sherlock had told John that he was free to move around as he pleased, but was warned to not attempt to leave. The compound had snipers on the roof that had the liberty to shoot on sight. John was too riled to sleep, so he watched where Sherlock was going. John’s brow furrowed slightly as he sees Sherlock walk up to a room in the back of the compound, flanked by two armed guards. Sherlock nods to them and they open the doors for him to go inside. John’s confusion grows when the guards shut and lock the doors after Sherlock.

Curiosity got the better of the doctor in the end as he went to investigate the scene that was unfolding before him. The guards look up as John approached. “Excuse me, it’s Doctor Watson, isn’t it?” John looked up at the new voice as an elderly gentleman walked up to him. “Yes?” John asked, curious. The man holds out a hand for John to shake. “I would tell you my name but the current...settings would deem that unwise. Besides, Jim never calls me by my real name, his way of underminding. I am called the Physician. I am the one who patched up Holmes after Jim and Moran released him from the clutches.” the Physician told John as the shook hands.

“You have my gratitude for that, sir. But can you tell me why Sherlock just locked himself in a room?” John asked. The Physician looked uncomfortable and put a fatherly arm around John’s shoulders to guide him away from the door.

“Working as a doctor under the consulting criminal, have seen my own fair share of blood. But...seeing the aftermath of what this Academy did to Sherlock… I have never seen anything like it. It was horrible. The room back there? It’s the only safe place for Sherlock to sleep. If you were to look into the room, it’s bare except for a single mattress on the floor. Sherlock has Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. He has some of the worse nightmares I have ever seen. That’s part of the reason he looks ghoulish. He barely gets any sleep. And when he does sleep he is plagued with flashbacks and memories as his mind is desperately tries to heal itself. Take my word for it and leave Sherlock alone when he goes into that room. For your own sake.” the Physician stated sympathetically, and gives John’s shoulder a gentle pat.

“One last question before you go. You seem...decent. How did you get pulled into?” John asked. The Physician smiled sadly. “Jim found my pressure point. My grandchildren. So long as I work for the consulting criminal, my family stays safe. In a way you are fortunate for not having anything Jim can hold over your head. If i were you, I would get out and run. Get as far away from this place as possible.” The Physician said solemnly. “That’s not quite true. Sherlock is my pressure point.” John shrugged.

“Then I pity you.”

“Why?”

“He’s not a man. Not anymore.” The Physician stated, the frown pulling his lips down as he looked at John with concern. Before John could ask for any more questions, the Physician adjusted his glasses and walked off. 

John suppressed a shiver as he muses over the advice he was given. “If he’s not a man anymore…. what is he?” John thought as he makes his way back to his room. As he walked, his path took him directly in front of the locked room where Sherlock slept. John was about to pass the room when a sound stops him dead in his tracks. It was the sound of a muffled scream. John’s eyebrows shoot up and he looks over at the door to the room. The guards were gone, they had gone to sleep as well, leaving John alone with his dilemma. “Don’t do it…” John thought, trying to convince himself not to. The thin long scream happened again, and all prior reservations John had are thrown out the window. John throws open the heavy doors to see Sherlock in a tight protective ball in the center of the mattress. In the dim lighting, John could see Sherlock was shaking violently, hands curled into fists.

“Sherlock.” John gasped softly, his heart ached to see his friend like this. John dropped to a knee on the thin mattress to place a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder. With a roar, Sherlock snapped awake, and flinched away from John. John was horrified to see that Sherlock was soaked in his own sweat and that a thin line of red was dripping out of his eyes and nose.

“Oh my God! Sherlock!” John panicked at the sight of the blood. Sherlock, however, was less than amused with the intrusion. “What are you doing in here?! Get out!” he roared , face twisting into a feral snarl. John backed away instantly. In his haste to put some distance between them, he falls back on his bum. “What were you doing in here?” Sherlock hissed. “I-I heard screaming. A-And you are bleeding…” John ventured. Sherlock’s hand instantly went up to his face to wipe his nose. “Not again…” Sherlock groaned softly as he looked down at the dark stain balefully.

“I’m a doctor. I want to help.” John said softly. “Hmmm. Then perhaps I should get your professional opinion on the matter.” Sherlock purred. John was a little shocked how he could go from blind with rage to calm and cold in the matter of seconds. Sherlock sat back down on the cot. John watched with widening eyes as Sherlock removes his shirt to show the doctor the full extent of the damage the Academy had done.

John’s mouth goes open wide as he looked Sherlock over. Sherlock’s marble skin was riddled with scars. John was a medical man, he had seen his own fair share of gruesome injuries and gore but this, this was something else. Sherlock’s skin was a testament to the hell he went though. There was evidence of branding, scoring, electrical shock, waterboarding, and God knew what else. John sways slightly and has to take several calming breaths to avoid passing out from the massive rush of blood to his head. He felt like crying, screaming, hitting something, but the only sound that conveyed John’s shock was a choked gasp of breath.

Sherlock silently watched John’s reaction with a pokerface. “It isn’t pretty, I know. But there’s also this.” Much to John’s shock, Sherlock’s hands take hold of wrists to guide John’s fingertips to a very large raised scar under his hair. At that, John’s floodgates open and John lets out a loud sob, his knees giving out to kneel in front of the detective. “Oh Sherlock, Sherlock. I am so sorry. I am so sorry they did this to you.” John sobbed.

Sherlock was silent the whole time John sobbed, his heart closed off to John’s misery. Sherlock felt something stirred in him but the brainwashing didn’t allow him to have empathy. “Your sympathy does nothing for me. What is your professional opinion so I might catch the sons of bitches that did this to me.” Sherlock said softly. 

John clears his throat loudly. “Well...they… to be frankly honest, fucked you over in a truly professional manner. The cuts were made by some who knew what they were doing. They knew how to inflict pain. Some of them were not even straight or consistent in pressure. This means you were awake for everything. You struggled. The marks show this wasn't all done in one session. They let you heal only to cut into you. Again. And again. And then again….” John whimpered. “Why didn’t I die?” Sherlock asked softly.

“You weren't given the mercy.”

“They made me into a monster.”

“No...No don't say that. You are not a monster.”

“Oh but I am. That was the intent. They wanted me to become this. They succeeded. I am a monster. In every sense of the word. Now get out of my sight. I am letting you live despite the fact that you have seen me in this state. Don’t make me regret that choice.” Sherlock growled, voice taking on a sinister hiss. John closes off his fear and frustration and leaves the room without a second look back, leaving Sherlock alone in the dark.


	15. Into the crosshairs

“What do you mean Holmes has escaped?!” Doctor Xavier roared, slamming his hands down on the table. His advisor and assistant flinched at the outburst. “Sir, you engineered a psychopath, there was bound to be… repercussions.” He replied. 

“I covered every base. Everything was checked and double checked. How did this happen?” Xavier hissed, attempting to control his emotions. “The wrath of James Moriarty. Jim didn’t react well to what we did to Holmes. Jim saw Holmes as his final problem. He wasn’t going to let you have have the final bow when the curtain closed.” The assistant replied. “Jim was supposed to be on our side! We hired him for his assistance. He was supposed to take out Mycroft and then London would be ours for the taking. He wasn’t supposed to double cross us! Get Moriarty here, we have business to discuss.” Xavier hissed.

A few hours later, the Consulting Criminal arrived at the undisclosed, neutral location via private jet. Jim was dressed immaculately in a dark suit and sunglasses, smoothing his hair down from his trip. Jim smirked at the sight of the doctor. As much as Xaver tried to hide it, he was terrified. But Xaver wasn’t scared of Jim, no he was scared of the consequences of his actions. Sherlock was the East Wind, and he was coming for Xavier. Xavier had a better chance stopping a hurricane over Sherlock’s wrath. Xavier was trying to perform damage control and save his own skin. Skin that could well be turned into shoes. 

“Let’s not waste each other’s time with pleasantries.” Xavier snapped. “Oh, I agree. Considering yours is running out.” Jim purred. Xavier sucked his break in sharply. “Was that a threat?” Xavier growled. Jim let out a small chuckle, his dark eyes glittered behind the shades. “Oh honey, pleeeeeeease. If I was threatening you, you would know it.” Jim scoffed in his sing-song tones. “We had a deal.” Xavier stated. “Had! We had a deal.” Moriarty suddenly shouted. “But the deal was taken off the table when you went after what was mine. I don’t like sharing.” Jim hissed, his becoming very serious. 

“Holmes was sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. He became a liability, we took care of it.” Xavier explained. Jim shook his head and made a disappointed and condescending tisk with his tongue. “No...you were your own liability. You got sloppy with Mary’s death. I detest sloppy assassination jobs. I was going to take out Mary myself, but you fools had to make a spectacle of your selves. And to make matters worse, you took what was mine. You took Sherlock Holmes, the Consulting Detective. I was willing to look past Mary, but taking Sherlock was a step too far. You and your people threatened me and my network. And for that, you. will. burn.” Jim hissed with a manic glee.

“So now you are threatening me.” Xavier said. “No...warning you. It’s not me who will burn you down. Sherlock has that privilege. So this my warning, for the sake of keeping things interesting. Run. Run and hide your miserable faces because Sherlock will eventally catch up to you. I am afraid there’s not going to be much left of you when he is finally through with you. Except perhaps an unsightly dark stain. I would rather not have your blood on my hands or suits. Westwoods are so tedious to maintain.” Jim purred playfully as he playfully pretended wash his hands. Jim threw back his head and laughed at Xavier’s horrified expression. “So you will do nothing for me?” Xavier said. “I have already have given you more than you deserve: a fair warning. Now run and hide, because that’s all you can do. Have a nice day.” Jim winked and without another word or glance back, saunters back to the private jet.


	16. When Hell Breaks Loose

With Jim gone on his business trip, Moran was tasked with helping Sherlock regain some of his coordination back from the abuse. Moran had his own reservations with task. Not that he was oppose to combat, but he felt oddly bad for beating something already so damaged. Moran saw Sherlock as a dead man walking, because Sherlock was still painfully thin. Moran looked down on Sherlock. That was his first mistake. What Moran didn’t know was that the Academy already conditioned Sherlock for combat. Sherlock knew how to kill a man in many imaginative ways. Sherlock looked small and weak but appearances were deceptive. In reality Sherlock was a killer now too. Moran was in danger and he had no idea the full depth of it. Moran’s military training, however advanced, wouldn’t help him out much if Sherlock decided to do something drastic.

Moran and Sherlock circled one another, like the two predators, the two killers they were. Sherlock was wearing a superior smile, one that Moran loathed. He already had one arrogant pain-in-his-ass psychopath, in Moran’s case that was to taken literally as well as figuratively. One psychopath was more than enough for the sniper. 

Seeing that irritating, self pleased expression on Sherlock’s face changed Moran’s prior reservations about sparring with the detective. To be frank, Moran was fucking tired of the dynamics between Jim and Sherlock. Granted, it was mostly one sided with Jim constantly making googly eyes at the detective. But the point of the matter was that Moran was tired of being shoved aside by Jim’s escapades to woo over Holmes.

So now that Moran had Sherlock alone, it was time to take the detectives ego down a few pegs. Moran wasn’t going to hurt Sherlock, nothing that the detective couldn’t walk away from. Only because Moriarty wouldn’t be too happy if his new pet was scuffed up too badly. Moriarty was likely to punish Moran, and not the way he liked. Moran chuckled ‘What’s a few strained appendages and perhaps a few cracked ribs between consulting killers, eh Homes.’ Moran thought and advanced on Holmes. Moran laughed to himself, the difference between the two of them was stark. Moran was only a few inches taller, but his build was massive compared with the boney angles of Sherlocks. Moran predicted that this sparring match was not going to last long. Unfortunately the outcome would prove him right.

Moran lunges at Sherlock, testing him. Sherlock spins out of the way. ‘Oh, he’s fast. Good. That will keep things interesting.’ Moran thought as Sherlock moved out of the way of the blows. All the while, that superior smile never left his face. “Come on, twinkle toes, take it like a man. You can do better than that.” Moran taunted trying to get Sherlock riled,

“Hell I will even give you the first solid shot.” Moran continued and dropped his guard. Moran had intended to bait Sherlock in to make the first move so he could floor the detective on his ass. The grin on Sherlock’s face widens into something sadistic, catching Moran off guard. Too late Seb realized that he didn’t know who was taunting whom and who had the upper hand.

Sherlock took Moran’s offer for the first blow, and he took it with a vengeance. Seb lets out an undignified yelp of agony as Sherlock lunged past Moran’s guard to slam his fist into Seb’s side with devastating consequences. Moran had intended to bait Sherlock in to make the first move so he could floor the detective. Moran’s eyes widen as he heard a sharp crackle as his poorly set ribs from a previous job fractured. Gasping, Moran stumbled backwards. Hunched over he looked up as Sherlock sauntered over to him. Sherlock’s eyes waver and flickered like hellfire of the demon within. “Do you need a moment, Tiger?” Sherlock taunted.

Moran waved him away with a growl and raised painfully to his full height. Moran fully pissed now, and in more than just a little pain. No one other than Jim was allowed to kick him around like that. Seb was ready to put Sherlock in his place.

Without warning, Moran lunged at Sherlock. Sherlock cackled with a manic glee and danced away, sweeping under Sebastian's wild haymaker. He spun away and gave Seb’s backside a playful slap, fully infuriating the sniper. Moran lunged again, his vision tinted red with rage. Sherlock grinned, this is what he wanted. This time when Moran swung at him, Sherlock blocked the blows with his forearms and drives his fists into the already fractured ribs. But Sherlock doesn’t stop there, he abused the area with a series of well timed blows. With a horrifying crackle, the already fractured ribs buckle inwards. 

Moran unable to suck his breath in properly, dropped like a stone. Sherlock looked down at the sniper at his feet, gasping for air. “Here’s lesson for you pet. Don’t underestimate me. And don’t pity me.” Sherlock hissed. The detective then kicked the man harshly in the gut. Moran let out a yelp and curled up into a ball to protect himself. Sherlock scoffed and steps over him. “You.” Sherlock snapped pointing a finger at one of of the bystanders watching the match. “Help Moran the moron to the infirmary. Our doctor Watson needs to attend to him.” he commanded. The minions look at each other warily. Sherlock took a threatening step at them and snapped his fingers loudly. “Do you want to be next. Hop to it, you pathetic fools.” Sherlock barked, causing them to flinch and scuttle into action to help support Moran to carry him to the infirmary. “Pathetic.” Sherlock sneers at their retreating backs.

Moriarty stormed into the room to fix his eyes on Sherlock. He had just returned to his business trip with Xavier just in time to see Moran being half carried to the infirmary.

“What the fuck! Sherlock!”

“Oh, hello, Jimmy.”

“What the hell did you do?!”


	17. Lesser Evil

"I thought it was clear, James. Moran and I were having a little spar. He was getting sloppy, I taught him a lesson in humility." Sherlock stated nonchalantly as he wrapped his fists with the strips of rags. Jim took in a shuddering breath to calm himself from the burning rage. "Sherlock, there is no need for you to 'school' my boys. Leave the punishments to me. Especially Moran. I need you focused on at the task at hand" Jim stated in what he hoped to be a reasonable tone. It has the opposite effect on Holmes.

"Focused?! Focused is all I have done since I got here. Which is more than for you and your bitches. Why don't you pull your cock out of Moran's ass and get some real work here done." Sherlock hissed taking a step forward Jim, slamming his fist into the drywall beside Jim's face. Jim actually flinched at the movement and took a step back. Jim noticed with each passing day, Holmes was getting restless and progressively more prone to violence. Honestly working with Holmes was delightful whiplash. One moment Sherlock was mild mannered gentleman, the next moment he was violent and destructive. Each days was different, and Jim never knew what version of this sociopath he was encountering. Sherlock was as quick to shake your hand as he was to skin you if the desire was present. Jim loved it. Sherlock was many things but boring was not one of them.

Beauty and rage. Honey and arsenic. Fire and ice. Lightning and Rain. Calm and the storm.

"Holmes please.... be reasonable. You are scaring my boys. How on earth are they going to let me keep you as a pet. " Jim wasn't at all concerned about Moran, Jim was more annoyed that Sherlock took it upon himself to provide the scolding. Jim was a ringleader afterall, he had to make sure his boys saw him as such. Jim needed to keep Sherlock reined in, to exert control.

Jim purred internally to himself. Ohh...what he would do to see see Sherlock reined in, with a collar and leash. Jim would love to tame this little monster, to make Sherlock into his little pet. All the things Jim would like to do if he had Sherlock on a leash. Sherlock was so deliciously hot and cold, it drove Jim mad. Sherlock was an enticing challenge, Jim never knew what was going on and that head of his. Most people would run and hide, but Jim was not like other people, obviously. If anything, Sherlock's violent unpredictability made the consultant even more desirable and exciting. Jim's small scar on his back, however, served as a warning to Jim to stay on Sherlock's pleasant side. 

"Pet...." Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks to look back at Jim, eyes flickered with hellfire. Jim's eyes widen slightly as his mouth goes dry. Jim, realizing his mistake, kept a neutral if not smug expression. "Yes...can I not bestow nicknames?" Jim asked.

"Jim...Jimmy...James...." Sherlock purred, striding over to be nose to nose with the consulting criminal. "I may be a lot of things, but I am not a pet. Yours or anyones. Call that again and I might have to be forced to rearrange that pretty face of yours. You would understand it would be as a shame. So don't make that same mistake twice, yes?" Sherlock purred in a tone that was calm but didn't hide the underlying malice. Sherlock slid a slim finger down Jim's face to the soft vulnerable skin of Jim's neck. The movement was anything but tender, Sherlock was mimicking the path of a knife. Jim bit back a whimper of need and gently slapped Sherlock's hand away from his neck.

"I swear, Holmes, I have skinned people for less of an insult than that. Not many people could get away with threatening me." Jim growled. Sherlock lets out a harsh bark of laughter. "Oh please, I would like to see you try. Pretty-boy Jimmy with his fancy dark suits was never one to get his hands dirty. And your staff is too intimidated by me to dare try, especially with recent developments. Besides, I am too damn enticing to you to try and end me. And you would have end me yourself. Don't you dare think that your googly eyed expressions had gone over my head. Killing me would be boring....and obvious. And we both know how much you despise that." Sherlock laughed.

"But the point still stands, Holmes. Continue to undermine my authority and I will be forced to rein you in.... Hmmm... you would look good in a collar and leash... You might not enjoy it, but I certainly will. I will not have my men turning on me because of you." Jim stated. Sherlock smiled slightly. "Jim....what makes you think for one moment that I am the pet in this relationship? Also, what makes you think I entend to stay with you when this is all said and done? To be frank, you are too predictable, too boring..." Sherlock purred.  
Now Jim at this point was used to Sherlock's unpredictability, but he never expected that. Jim was so shocked in fact, that his eyebrows arch up. "Oh? Was that news to you? Did you actually think I liked you... that I could like you? Oh, Jim...James.... don't be so sentimental. It's unbecoming on you." Sherlock purred. "But you said..." Jim began. "I said that we make a good team, that much is true. At least in the beginning that was true. Because I needed you, well I needed access to the center of your crime web. As I gained your trust, The rest of what I said was stroke your ego. What I needed was your network, your connections. You, on the other hand, the spider in the center of the web....is now dispensable." Sherlock smirked, and Jim at last notes that the detective had his back literally up against the wall.

"You bastard....you used me. You manipulated me." Jim hissed. "You are just now figuring that at now? Hummm.... You manipulated yourself. Had you not been making goo goo eyes at me you would have seen that have taken your network from the inside out. Your people are mine. Today was the final straw falling into place with Moran. Caring really isn't an advantage... But you have served me well. Perhaps I will keep you as a pet." Sherlock used his words against the Criminal.   
Jim's breath sucked in sharply as he dives his hand into his coat to pull out his gun. Jim points the gun at Sherlock's chest. Most people would cower when they stared down the barrel of Jim's gun but Sherlock just threw his head back and cackled. Jim was about to pull the trigger and fire but a half second later there was a sharp bark of a rifle and the gun was suddenly snapped out of Jim's hand. "What part of, I own you do you not understand, Jim." Sherlock nodded to the laser mark on Jim's chest. Jim's eyes and mouth go wide when he is now in the crosshairs of one of his snipers.

"H-How...?"

"How did I turn them? You toss a hungry wolf a bone and they are surprisingly loyal. Particularly so when you have killed their comrade right in front of them and offered an ultimatum: Join or die. Jim...you are the lesser of two evils when compared to me. Your reign is over as the King of Crime. Long live the king."


	18. Tiger Stripes

John looked up in shock to see the men half carrying Moran into the infirmary. Immediately, the combat doctor took command. “Put him on the cot there.” John barked, as he raced over with the kit. A few seconds later, Moran’s T shirt was removed to allow John to look over the damage with a tense expression. One more blow would have turned Moran’s ribs inward, collapsing the lung. Sherlock knew exactly what to do to decommission the mercenary until further notice. Anything more would have killed him.

“Bite down on this, I am going to have to snap the rib back in place.” John commanded, putting a strap of leather into Moran’s mouth. Moran nods and closes his eyes. “You know this is going to hurt, but I will give you until the count to three. One….two...three!” With that, John’s hands had snapped the inward bones back into the correct position. The bones had snapped back with a sickening crunch. Moran threw back his head and howled into the obstruction in his mouth before collapsing back onto the cot. “It’s done.” John said softly as he stepped back.

Be glad you are my pet and not Jim's. Jim is not the most merciful handler to his pets….

Sherlock’s words can back to John as he looked over Moran’s form as he recovered. John was no stranger to old war wounds, and Moran was a patchwork scars. Moran wore his history on his skin, riddled with knife wounds and bullet holes. Some mars much fresher than the scars awarded with war. Jim’s Tiger had stripes aplenty. Sherlock had warned John that he wouldn’t like being Jim’s pet, now he understood why. Moran’s life was that of violence and horror, of blood and pain. John hand subconsciously goes up to the bullet scar on his own shoulder. The single shot had nearly killed John. How on earth had Moran lived this long? How could one person endure that much and still live? John’s heart clenched in pain when he thought of Sherlock. The answer was you don’t. That type of violence destroys a person. Even if the person lives, their mind is something else. Sherlock was a prime example of that.

John looked up as the door opened and Jim walks in. “How is he?” Jim asked, softly. John arches an eyebrow. Jim was much more quiet and subdued. “He will live, but he is decommissioned. He needs rest, doctor’s orders.” John responded. Jim nodded slightly and sits down in one of the chairs to cover his face with his hands. “What happened?” John asked. “What happened? Sherlock happened. He nearly killed my sniper and has my staff with their tails tucked and submissive to his horrors.” Jim muttered.   
“Boss…” Moran stirred in response to Jim’s voice, causing Jim to look up. “Hey Tiger….” Jim purred and sits on the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry.” Seb winced. “Shhh, lie still. I need my sniper.” Jim stated. “You know for practically being a dead man walking, Holmes has quite the right hook….” Moran laughed painfully. “Yes, well, Holmes is quite full of surprises. I just wish that this didn’t happen. Out of all the times I could use your help, now would be the best time.” Jim moaned and rubbed his palms over his face.

“I know you Jim, you can’t just kill him. Not when he as the others under his thumb. And we still need his help to take out the Academy. As much as we all dislike Holmes, we need to finish this.” Moran winced. “Has hell truly frozen over that we are all on the same page? Good Lord.” John sighed. Jim laughed softly. “Look at us. Nothing like a common enemy to unite our causes.”

"God, I miss the old Holmes.” Seb moaned. Jim shifted foot to foot and glanced between Moran and John. “For once, I think we all agree. But how do we fix this royal mess?” Jim asked. “Right now, what we need to do is channel that violence. Point him in the right direction. Once we find the person responsible we will force him to fix Sherlock.” John answered. “And if they can’t? Are you prepared to stop Sherlock, no matter what?” Jim asked. “Yes. I will stop him, it’s the merciful thing to do.” John said, suddenly looking at least a decade older.

Sherlock passes the infirmary, armed to the teeth with several pistols and knives. “Gentlemen. The boys have found the Academy's Headquarters. We have work to do. Move your asses, and don’t make me ask twice. Come along John and you too, Jimmy” Sherlock purred. Sherlock was thrumming with manic glee, murder in his expression. Sherlock leaves to get the car.

“Showtime.” Jim sighed.


	19. Let it Bleed

Time was up for Xavier. The East Wind was coming for him. The end was there and his only solace was found at the bottom of a brandy bottle. He supposed this was the outcome for playing with fire, you got burned. His coworkers had abandoned him, to cover their own tails. Not that it mattered, all the ones responsible for the recalibration of Sherlock Holmes were dead at this point. All that was left was the doctor himself, he was the final straw. He had tried running, but somehow death followed him. If this was going to be his final stand, he was going to go down with some dignity. He intended to take some of them down with his. Xavier’s office was as good as place as any to hold his ground.

There’s a muffled bang outside his office and he looked up quickly. “So it begins.” He sighed regretfully. He didn’t regret his actions, no he regretted that things didn’t go according to plan. Xavier stood as the doors are kicked in. Xavier pulled out his gun and unloads the clip at the men entering the door. Xavier fired desperately until the clip is empty. The smoke clears and Sherlock strided into the room. “Hello Doctor…”

“Holmes.” Xavier hissed. Sherlock smirks, his smile wide and toothy against his thin pale face. “You must have known this day was coming....” Sherlock purred, making the small hairs on the back of Xavier’s neck stand up. Jim and John come into the room to stand behind Sherlock, guns ready.

“It really shouldn’t surprise you that this was the outcome of your choices. You underestimated me and Jim here. And that is the last mistake you will ever make.” Sherlock snarled and lunged forward. The detective grabbed hold of the doctor’s scruff to drag him out from behind his desk and to slap him down on the floor. 

“Before things progress, I want to know why. Why didn’t you just kill me?” Sherlock asked. “It was too merciful. We wanted to make you into our weapon. You were to be the perfect soldier without empathy and remorse.” Came Xavier’s response. “Congratulations, doctor. You succeeded. Shall you see the fruits of your labor?” Sherlock snarled, getting right in Xavier's face. “Oh dear god….” Xaver whimpers. “ May God save your soul and what’s left of mine. You really should have killed me when you had the chance.” Sherlock snarled.

With that Sherlock descended on the unfortunate doctor. Sherlock didn’t bother with a gun. The gun would have been too merciful and short. Sherlock intended to make him suffer, to exact a small percent of the pain the detective suffered at the hands of this man. John watched with a horrid fascination as flesh became pulp. Very quickly the doctor became unrecognizable. The area around the two was spattered with gore. Sherlock was beating the man with his bare hands.

At last Sherlock stopped, his chest heaving and covered in his elbows in gore. The doctor was pinned down under him, barely alive. With his last reservoirs of strength, the doctor spoke the word that broke the failsafe within Sherlock’s mind even as the detective's hands moved to deliver finishing blow. The doctor gurgled and quieted, finally passing.  
During the brainwashing process, Xaver placed a series of mental blocks within Sherlock’s mind to prevent the old Sherlock from coming back. The failsafe would crumble those barriers and all the memories of the torture and pain would come back, all at once. The process was theorized to kill a man. With the command given, the barriers crumbled and broke.

Sherlock sucked his breath in sharply and goes very still. He could feel and almost hear the snap and crack. It was like glass shattering, a parallel of fragility of his mind. He blinked once and slapped his hands to his temples as the memories and pain came searing back. Sherlock screamed loud and painfully as the sensation floors him. Jim and John have opposite reactions. Jim took the opportunity to tuck tail and run. John, on the other hand, ran to Sherlock’s side to support him as he collapsed. John panics as he saw blood drip out of Sherlock’s eyes and nose. “Sherlock! Oh God, talk to me!”

But the detective is long gone, lost in a haze, torrent of horrible memories. Sherlock’s mind and body rebelled as the walls came crashing down. John was helpless as he watched his friend goes painfully still and silent. John had his arms around Sherlock as they were both half kneeling on the ground. Sherlock trembled slightly and goes limp in John’s arms.

“Sherlock? No no no! Oh god no!” John sobbed and buried his face into Sherlock’s chest. John rocked them both back and forth. “Sherlock...no….please no. I need you. Come back to me…. please….”


	20. Mirror Reflections

System’s critical

Immediate reboot needed.

Forced restart.

Admin password needed.

**********

Password accepted.

Sequence indicated

Reboot in 5.

4.

3.

2.

1.

The shackles that held the real Sherlock Holmes, imprisoned within the confines of his own mind strained and shattered.

//Bruised. Battered. Alive. Free. Oh god, I am alive. How am I alive?//

Sherlock looked around to take in his surroundings to see how deep he was within his own mind. He freezed when he saw that he was in the padded cell. The cell, however, was not the same how Sherlock left it after he was shot. Moriarty was dead. Not just dead, the projection of Moriarty had his throat cut and the Consulting Criminal’s blood painted the cell with red streaks. Sherlock cautiously approached the body to nudge it carefully with a toe. Movement off to his right causes the detective to stiffen. He wasn’t alone. Sherlock spun around to blink in confusion. A mirror had appeared in the center of the room. The mirror was huge, and it stretched from floor to ceiling.

//What….on earth?//

Sherlock approached the dark glass with caution so that his and the image’s noses nearly touched. As he pulled back all the way, what he sees in the mirror nearly makes him scream.

The image blinked and smiled a twisted smile. The teeth were filed to sharp points and the eyes were pools of white. 

Sherlock takes another step back as the image changed and moved to step out of the glass. The mirror shattered as the image stepped out, the glass glittering on the floor of the cell. The projection stepped forward and Sherlock fought back panic as he looked upon his own demon.

“Hello Sherlock.”

//How is this happening? Who are you?//

“You know very well why and who I am. I am you. I am the demon in your head. I am the darkness that lies deep in your soul. You may run, you might deny it, but there is no hiding from yourself. I had a little fun back there with the Academy unleashing me. But now you are back, how dull.”

//You are not real.//

The mirror image cocked his head and clicks his tongue disapprovingly. “You know it’s not healthy to lie to one’s self. You might be able to lie to your friends, but you cannot lie to me. I am you, you are me. You know this to be true. I am very real. Deny, shut me out, whatever you do I will still be here. I will always be here. I am a patient one. I will be here when the rest of this world abandons in you. When the the world stops believing in Sherlock Holmes. I am what you become without friends, without family. When you are truly alone, I shall welcome you back with open arms as the dark consumes you. But until then, I shall wait. Now if I am right, you need to reconnect with the conscious world. After all, there’s no me without you. You are not going to die, not yet at least. Farewell Sherlock Holmes.” His evil laughter follows as the shadow self shoves forcefully. Sherlock is shoved out of the room, back into my body. 

“Sherlock?! Sherlock!” John Watson reared back and slapped the detective across his face. The action was a desperate movement of a man trying something, anything to save his best friend. John’s eyes widen as he felt the detective stiffen in his arms. Sherlock’s back arched back slightly as he drags in air into his depraved lungs with a loud gasp.

John looked down in apprehension as those blue eyes open to focus on his face. John didn’t know what version of the man he was looking down on. Sherlock blinks, those pale eyes fixed on John’s like a starving man seeking sustenance.

“John….Oh my god. John.” Sherlock gasped in very small, broken tone. “Sherlock I swear if this is a joke….” John muttered, he thought that the madman was playing a sick joke. Those thoughts were quickly shattered when the detective lunged forward to close his arms tightly around John’s chest and neck in a hug. John stiffened for a second before he realized that Sherlock, his Sherlock was back. “My Sherlock.” John sobbed into his best friend’s hair as the floodgates of emotion opened. 

“I-I’m back John. I came back to you, I made you a promise.” Sherlock whimpered as John tightened his arms. Sherlock’s hands turn into claws as he clutched the fabric of John’s coat like his life and sanity depended on it. Sherlock is silent as he allowed John to sob with relief into him as John rocked them both slightly back and forth.

“I-I thought you were gone….” John barely got the words out between shuddering breaths. “I was gone.” Sherlock responded in a voice barely above a whisper. “You are covered in blood. What can I do to help?” John gasped as he pulled back from the hug. “Take me home. Please.”


	21. Aftermath

Sherlock padded into his and John’s shared flat. The detective paused to take it in, and sighed softly with joy that he had not felt in a long time. “Go shower, I will go get you some fresh clothes.” John said motioning to the bathroom. 

Alone in the bathroom, Sherlock takes off his shirt. Seeing his reflection in the mirror caused him to suck his breath in sharply. He had seen the scars before, but this was the first time he had seen them with his empathy returned. The first time that he could truly process what happened with a sound mind, clear at last. 

Sherlock traced a scar on his chest with a shaking hand, the floodgates opening. He leaned his palms on the counter and let out a loud cry of despair. John, heard the sound, and came running. “Sherlock? Hey are you alright in there?” John called through the door. When Sherlock didn’t respond, John burst into the room to see Sherlock leaned up against the counter. “Sherlock? Hey mate, look at me.” John sighed and gently spun his friend around.

“Look at me, John. Look at what they did to me. You don’t know what it was like, to be screaming out for help. To be a slave in your own mind. I remember everything, everything they did to me. They turned me into into...into that /thing/, and I couldn’t even process and mourn the loss of what they did to me. Oh God! Look at me, I am nothing but damaged goods.” Sherlock cried.

“I want to show you something.” John said softly and removed his shirt to show Sherlock his bullet scar as well the others earned from war combat. Sherlock’s eyes widen at the sight as he looks over the sight. John very carefully moved in closer and puts a hand on both side of his friend’s face. “Sherlock, you are my best friend. There isn’t a thing I wouldn’t do for you. This changes nothing between us. You are beautiful inside and out, and if anyone disagrees I will punch them.” John said softly.

“When did you become so sentimental?” Sherlock coughed out a laugh. “Like I said, you are my best friend.” John shrugged.

Sherlock looked up to meet his best friend’s eye. “You know I recall everything, and if memory serves me, one thing stands out.” Sherlock began. “Oh?” John raised an eyebrow. "Theret is one thing that I very vividly recall when I went dark. You told me that you once loved me. You should know the feeling is mutual. You saved my life, John. You saved me when I didn’t know I needed saving. I owe you everything, I owe you my life.” Sherlock said softly. John smiled. “That’s what it means to love someone, to put their life above your own. You are my family. You are all I have left in this world” John answered.

~~

A short time later, Sherlock was resting in his chair when Hudson comes storming into the flat. “Where is he?” She yelled, as looked around. Her eyes settle upon the sheepish looking detective and her mouth goes wide. “Oh….so the rumors are true. You are alive.” She gasped as Sherlock moved over to greet her. Sherlock half expected the woman to slap him. He winces, expecting the strike only to have the woman yank the detective into her for a bear hug. John watched with a small smile as the significantly taller man allowed the shorter woman yank him down so she could tuck his head under her chin. Sherlock bent his knees and stooped to allow her to cry into his hair, saying incoherent things through her tears of joy. Sherlock gently patted her back, allowing her to cry. After a short time, she pulled away to pat her face free of the tears. 

“Please move, I need to see him.” A new yet familiar voice entered the scene. Sherlock looked past Mrs Hudson’s head to see and all too familiar face of his brother. Sherlock rose to his full height slowly and the two brother’s eyes meet across the room. Mycroft’s eyes are blown wide and a dozen emotions cross over his face. There’s a second where neither of them move out of shock at seeing each other alive. Much to everyone’s shock it was Mycroft who makes the first move. Mycroft, who never was one for legwork, promptly sprinted across the room to nearly tackle sherlock into his embrace, the beloved umbrella tossed unceremoniously off to the side in Mycroft’s haste.

Mycroft pulls his little brother into his arms to bury his face into Sherlock hair. John’s mouth hangs open wide as Mycroft Holmes cries into the crook of Sherlock’s neck. This was no dignified soft silent crying. No, this was loud, ugly crying of someone the most genuine relief and joy that anyone could ever experience.

“Shhh, shhhh, brother mine.” Sherlock purred softly in a voice strangled with tears, rubbing Mycroft's back with the arm that was not pinned down at his side by the force of Mycroft’s arms around him .John wondered who was comforting whom as the two brother’s hugged. 

“I thought you said that caring isn’t an advantage.” John said quietly.

“It isn’t voluntary either, Doctor. But I have spent my entire life caring about Sherlock Holmes.” Came Mycroft's response after he pulled back to give Sherlock some air.


	22. What remains

In the coming weeks that followed, Sherlock put on several pounds of necessary fat and muscle. His dark hair grew back out to its normal state, Sherlock's skin and hair were also restored. The scars remained, both on his skin and below. The recovery was a long and tedious one.

In many ways, Sherlock would never be the same. But neither was John. The experience had changed them both.

There were many days the detective looked over at his friend John Watson in gratitude. John Watson had saved his life more times than the detective could count. The man had saved Sherlock from himself. John had made Sherlock want to live, to take the pain instead of giving up. The scars that remain reminded Sherlock that he was, in fact, human. John Watson was what kept him human, kept him grounded.

Thank God for John Watson. 

Holmes and Watson. To the end of their days.


End file.
